Ghost Child
by Redluna
Summary: One snowy night a desperate mother thrusts her infant son into the arms of another person not caring who it is in her desire to rid herself of the child. And so the opera ghost gains a child.
1. Prologue

Don't worry I haven't forgotten about May Broken Hearts Mend. The chapter got delted on that one so I have to rewrite it is all.

It was one of those winter's nights when the wind was blowing as hard as the snow was falling. People were rushing to get home as quickly as they could no matter how much they slipped and slid on the slush.

The only one who was moving at a reasonably slow pace was a tall figure clad in a black hooded cape. No would could see much of his features due to the fact that the snow was so thick and that he was holding the hood of the cape over his face. Nobody thought much of the fact that he was hiding his face. Who wouldn't after all in this cold? But what they didn't know that he wasn't just holding the hood over his face against the cold but also to hide the black mask that he wore on his face. If they saw such a mask then they certainly would stare and that's what he hated the most. People had always stared at him.

But tonight they weren't staring at him. Instead they were staring at a certain woman who was acting very strangely. It wasn't that she was running threw the streets because everyone was doing that. No it was the fact that she looked bedraggled and almost mad as she did.

Suddenly however during her constant running she slipped on the slush and fell headlong into the caped man sending them both sprawling onto the ground.

The man shoved the woman off him and sat up glaring at her from underneath his hood. "You should watch where you're mademoiselle," He said with just a tint of annoyance in his voice. "If you haven't noticed it's very slippery."

The woman sat up as well and looked at him with wide indigo eyes that seemed to burn like a fire. They would have been beautiful those eyes if they didn't seem to have a crazed look to them.

"Please!" The woman said. "Please take it!"

"What are you talking about?" The man asked now looking at her anxiously.

"Please!" The woman said. "Take it please!"

"Take _what_?!" The man demanded sharply. "I cannot you answer you if I do not know what this thing is!"

"It's this!" The woman said thrusting out her arms. The man looked down into her outstretched arms and saw what appeared to be a bundle of cloth.

"Why are you so desperate to rid yourself of a blanket?" The man asked with one finely raised eyebrow.

"No!" The woman said. "No! That's not what it is!" With shaky hands she moved away a part of the cloth and then looked away with closed eyes as though she couldn't stand to look at what lay inside.

The man looked down at the bundle to see what had caused such fear in the woman and got quite a shock.

It was a baby that lay inside the bundle and yet it was no normal baby. The soft skin of its face was twisted up and sunken in almost like that of a skull's.

"You want me to take a baby?" The man said looking back up at the woman.

"Yes!" The woman said. "I don't want it!" She shoved the baby at the man as though it had burned her. She was lucky that the man had fast reflexes or else the baby would have fallen onto the ground.

"I can't take this!" The man said holding out the bundle to the woman but she roughly shoved it away with tears in her eyes.

"No!" She said. "Don't try and give me that thing! I hate it!"

"You hate your own child?" The man said. The words brought back memories to him. Memories of a woman whose bitter eyes only showed hate as she thrust a mask at him.

"Of course I do!" The woman said. "Who wouldn't? How could anyone love such a disgusting thing?!" The man's teeth gritted together and he clutched the baby to him tightly to him.

"I could," He said. The woman looked at him in surprise.

"You what?" She said. The man stood up and looked down at the woman with a glare as cold as the snow falling around him.

"I will love this child whom you hate so much," He said. A huge smile broke out across the woman's face.

"Really?" She said and the relief in her voice made the man hate her even more.

"Yes," He said. "Now get out of my sight. If I see you again I swear I will kill you." The woman's eyes flashed with fear and she nodded before rushing off.

She had no way of knowing that she had just given away her child away to the Phantom of the Opera.

Review if you liked it please!

Ja ne!

Redluna


	2. Chapter One

_ ------1886-----_

Christine Daae looked up at the Opera Populaire feeling as though her heart was going to burst. It had been five years since she had last seen it but the building was still as magnificent and beautiful as she remembered.

She shouldn't be here. Raoul had forbidden her to return to the opera house after the whole affair with the Phantom had been completed. But Christine had known that she would have to return one day and now was the perfect opportunity since Raoul was going to be gone on a business trip for two weeks.

Something tugged gently on Christine's hand drawing her out of her thoughts. Turning from the opera house she looked down at the little boy by her side.

Her son, Charles de Chagny, was five years old and he looked very much like her. His soft, innocent looking face was framed by dark chestnut curls that refused to be tamed and his equally dark eyes that peered worriedly up at his mother threw thick brown curling lashes. His full little rosebud mouth—which looked like it should belong to a girl and not a boy—was currently twisted downwards into a frown.

"Are you alright, Mama?" He asked in his sweet bell like voice.

Christine felt guilty for making him worry about her and squeezed his hand gently. "I'm fine," She said. "I was only remembering the memories that this place holds." She smiled at him. "But would you like to go inside now?"

Instantly Charles's face broke out into a huge smile. "Yes!" He said releasing his mother's hand and rushing up the steps. Christine laughed and ran after him opening the door for them when they reached it.

Meg where waiting for them in the main hall when they walked in. She rushed forward when she saw them embrace Christine tightly. "Oh, I've missed you!" She said.

"I've missed you too," Christine said hugging her friend back. "You really should come visit more often!"

"I know," Meg said, "but I've hardly been able to get a break. Its just one opera after another. But hopefully I'll be able to take a break and come visit soon." Releasing Christine, she looked down at Charles with a smile.

"Hello, Charles," She said. "Have you gotten taller?"

"Yes I have!" Charles said proudly. "I'll be as tall as Papa soon!"  
"I don't doubt it," Meg said ruffling her hair. "Would you like to go watch the rehearsals?"

"Yes, please!" Charles said excitedly.

Meg nodded with a smile and took his hand. Christine followed them allowing herself to be lead through the maze of dressing rooms that she still remembered by heart.

When they reached the backstage all eyes turned to them. Christine did her best to ignore the whispers circulating around her and focused her attention of her son instead who was currently watching the people onstage with a fascination in his wide eyes that made her smile.

"I have to go onstage now," Meg said laying her hand on her shoulder. "Well you be alright here alone?" Christine nodded. "I'll meet you after I'm done then and we can go out to dinner."

"Okay," Christine smiled. Meg smiled back and rushed off to join the other dancers onstage.

Christine sighed as the music started up and the ballet dancers began to move beautifully across the stage. She had missed all of this so much! She still longed to be on that stage singing but it would be impossible. She couldn't sing onstage now that she was married to Raoul and Erik was probably still lurking around in the shadows like he always had…

Something brushed against her legs making her give a start. Looking down her eyes widened in shock.

A cream colored Siamese cat sat there looking up at her with calm blue eyes. And around her neck was a collar studded with huge diamonds.

It was Erik's cat!

"Ayesha!"

Christine's head snapped up from the cat to see a boy who she was sure was only perhaps a year older then her son, running towards her. When he reached her, he bent down and scooped the cat up into his arms. "I'm sorry, mademoiselle, she got away from me," He said in a voice that made Christine gasp. It was so beautiful, this voice, it was like he was singing as he spoke.

But when he looked up at her apologetically, allowing her to truly see his face for the first time her eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth.

The boy's face covered by a mask of white cloth which was identical to the mask Erik use to wear around her.

The eyes that peered out from the holes in the mask were a beautiful burning indigo and his hair was a mass of deep black curls. He was dressed in a finely tailored little black suit with a black cape fastened around his neck.

He looked down at the ground now and shuffled his feet, feeling nervous under her stare.

But a voice like the tinkling of a small bell brought his head back up.

"Hello."

Charles was standing by his mother's side now and was giving the boy before him a friendly smile.

"I'm Charles de Chagny," He chirped cheerfully. "What's your name?"

The boy gave Charles a shy smile. "I'm James," He said.

"Hi, James," Charles said his smile widening. "Do you want to watch the rehearsals with me?" He began to move towards James, holding out his hand for him to take, but a sudden iron tight grip on his shoulder made him stop.

He looked back at his mother surprised to find her face completely white. "Mama…?" He asked.

"We have to leave now Charles's," Christine said quietly her eyes locked on James.

"But, Mama, they haven't finished the rehearsal yet!" Charles bemoaned. "And I want to play with James!"

"I'm sorry, Charles," Christine said, "but we really must be going."

James looked at her in confusion but when he saw the terror in her eyes as she looked at his mask, everything clicked.

His eyes narrowed and his tone was clipped and cold when he spoke. "I understand, mademoiselle. You don't want something like _me_ hanging around your precious little boy. I'm sorry to have intruded upon you both." He bowed his head to Christine well the cat in his arms eyed her with contempt and then he slipped back into the shadows.

Christine's grip on her son's shoulder loosened allowing him to run after the other boy. "James!" He cried. "James, _wait_!" But the boy was already gone.

Charles rounded on his mother looking up at her angrily. "You scared him away, Mama!" He said. "I wanted to play with him!"

Meg came offstage at that very moment full of smiles. Her smile faded however when she saw Christine standing there white faced and a furious Charles glowering at her.

"Christine?" She asked laying her hand on the woman's arm.

Christine clutched her hand and turned to look at Meg, her wide eyes filled with fear.

"Let's go to dinner now," She whispered.


	3. Chapter Two

-------_1897_------

Charles de Chagny had never been so happy in his life. It taken eleven long years of begging but he had finally been able to convince his parents to bring him back to the Opera Populaire. They were going to be staying in Paris for the whole opera season and got to sit with the mangers in their box which was one of the best boxes in the house.

Tonight's performance was to be _Faust_ and Charles couldn't wait for it to begin. He was practically bouncing up and down in his seat in excitement.

Richard Firmin chuckled at the obvious excitement of the boy sitting next to him. "Anxious for the opera to begin?" He asked.

"Yes," Charles grinned. "I heard that you have some of the most excellent singers in all of France, so I can't wait to hear how beautiful the performance will be."

"You enjoy music then?" Gilles Andre piped up from Firmin's other side.

"Yes, very much," Charles smiled.

He was well aware that his passion for music made him even more like his mother. He had a voice teacher since he had started to sing along with Christine when she sang her old operatic arias when he was six. It was his greatest dream to sing on the stage of the Opera Populaire like his mother had but he knew that because of his parentage such a dream could never be realized. So instead he settled for being able to make Christine cry tears of joy when he sang and the proud look in his father's eyes every time he heard his voice.

As the adults babbled on to each other Charles looked around at the other people in audience until his eyes came to rest on the box infront of theirs which was curiously empty.

"Why is that box empty?" He asked Firmin.

Everyone instantly went silent lighthearted expressions gone and Firmin cleared his throat nervously before answering.

"That's Box Five," He told Charles. "It's the Phantom's private box."

"Oh," Charles said quietly looking back at the box. His parents had told him all about the Phantom of the Opera when he was ten years old and he knew it was the reason why it had taken eleven years to convince them to return to the opera house. That and the little masked boy that Charles had met the first time he had come to the Opera Populaire.

Charles's grip on the arms of his chair tightened as he remembered James. He hadn't come to the opera house just to see the season's performances. He wanted to find that mysterious boy and figure out why his mother had been so afraid of him and why he wore a mask. He could still remember James's words to his mother…

_"I understand, mademoiselle. You don't want something like _me _hanging around your precious little boy."_

What had he meant?

Charles was dragged out his thoughts by the light touch of his mother's hand on his.

"Charles," She said quietly, "the opera's starting."

Charles smiled at her before turning his attention to the stage.

The rumors of the Opera Populaire having some of the best singers in France may have been slightly exaggerated—the leading soprano Carlotta Giudicelli had _definitely_ passed her prime by now—but all the same Charles couldn't help but be enchanted by the performance.

Halfway through the performance however Charles glanced curiously over a Box Five.

What he saw there made his eyes go wide.

Someone was sitting in the box!

Pressing his opera glasses to his eyes to get a better look he found that person seemed to be around his age. He was wearing a black suit and cape that made him almost blend into the shadows of the box. His face was covered by the wide brim of the felt hat that he wore but as Charles stared at him he turned his head to look back, revealing a white mask.

Charles gasped his opera glasses slipping from his eyes as his grip on them loosened. Was it James?!

He quickly brought his opera glasses back to his eyes and looked back into the box only to find it empty once more.

James pressed himself all the way back into his chair. His heart was pounding so hard that he thought it would burst from his chest.

Erik had turned to look at him now eyes full of concern. "What's wrong?" He asked.

"The boy in the manger's box just saw me!" James said.

"You mean Charles de Chagny," Erik said quietly.

James froze when he heard the name. "It was _Charles_?" He breathed.

"Indeed," Erik said. "I think you should keep back for the rest of the opera. The boy's watching our box like a vulture." He then turned his attention back to the opera well James peered over into the manger's box.

Charles still had his opera glasses fixed on their box but as James watched he eventually put them back down on his lap and turned back to the opera looking disappointed. James on the other hand hardly paid any attention to the opera as he studied Charles.

His face had thinned out over the years but with his innocent, soft features and full delicate lips, it still had a slightly feminine look to it. His dark chestnut curls framed this face nicely and the dark eyes which were now sneaking a glance into Box Five were very beautiful. Especially with the thick curling brown lashes that would have made any girl jealous.

James had never imagined that he would see the other boy again. The boy who had been the only person in the world to show him kindness besides Erik and Madame Giry. And yet there he was right infront of him.

He wished that he could go see Charles but he knew it was a foolish wish. His parents were people who would fear and reject him because they could guess what lay behind the mask and perhaps their son would too. Besides who was he to think that Charles even remembered him? He had only been five years old at the time after all. No, for now James would have to content himself with simply watching.

Charles lay in his bed staring up at the crimson clothe of the canopy. It was eleven at night now and he knew he should be asleep but his mind wouldn't stop racing.

He was _certain_ that he had seen James in Box Five tonight. But why would he be in the Phantom's box? Did he have some kind of ties to the man? He would have to have them Charles guessed to be able to sit in the man's box unharmed. But what kind of ties did he have to him then?

Charles sighed and closed his eyes. As he did the image of James in Box Five slipped back into his mind. _Why does he wear that mask? _He wondered. _A mask just like the Phantom's…_

His eyes snapped open and he shot up in bed. James wore a mask just like the Phantom's. Could it be that he wore it for the same reason?

Erik entered James's room to find the boy lying on his bed absentmindedly plucking the strings of his violin. He looked over at Erik when he came in. "Hello, Father," He said.

Erik didn't answer him and walked over to sit down on James's bed. He gave his son a serious look.

"You're thinking about Charles aren't you," He said.

James let his violin fall onto the bed with a sigh. "Don't worry," He said. "I already know that I can't show myself to him."

"But you'll follow him in secret," Erik said. "That eventually won't be enough for you though and try as you might to stop yourself you'll reveal yourself to him hoping that he'll accept you. And though he might then he'll later become curious about the mask and wanting to know what's behind it he'll—"

"I know, Father," James said sitting up his voice soft and sad. "I won't do what you did."

Erik sighed and slipped his arm around James's shoulders, pulling the boy to him. James closed his eyes and lay his head down on his father's chest as the man nestled his thin, bony hands in his hair.

"Stay away from that boy," He said. "I won't allow you to get hurt like I did."


	4. Chapter Three

**This chapter reminds me a bit of _Notes_ lol. And I'm not sure if its going to be slash but it seems to be leaning that way.**

* * *

That morning, under the guise of going out to explore the sights, Charles set off to the Opera Populaire. There he rushed to the backstage where he knew he'd find just the person he was looking for.

Madame Giry was rather surprised to see him.

"Hello, Charles," She smiled. "Did you come to watch the rehearsals?"

"No, madame," Charles said, "I came to ask you a question."

"And what might that question be?" Madame Giry asked.

Charles took a deep breath. This was not going to be easy. "Do you know how to reach James?"

Madame Giry's eyes widened. "How do you know him?" She demanded instantly.

"I met him a long time ago," Charles said. "I promise that I don't mean any harm to him. I was just wondering if you could give him this letter." He reached into his jacket he pulled out a crisp, white envelope that he offered to Madame Giry.

She looked down at it worriedly. "Charles, do you have any idea what your doing?" She asked.

"Yes," Charles said, "so please make sure he gets the letter."

Madame Giry sighed and the letter from him. "Alright," She said, "but I can't grantee a response."

* * *

James, having heard the warning bells go off some time ago, was waiting for Madame Giry as she rowed up to the bank of the lake.

"Hello, madame," He said helping her out of the gondola and onto the ground. "If you're looking for my father then I'm afraid you just missed him. He went to patrol above."

"I'm not looking for your father," Madame Giry said. "I came here to deliver a letter to you."

James raised his eyebrows. "A letter?" He asked. "Who's writing to me?"

"Charles de Chagny," Madame Giry said.

James's heart stopped.

"Why is he writing to me?" He asked.

"I don't know," Madame Giry said, "but I suggest you find out before your father gets home."

"Thank you," James said taking the letter from her.

"Your welcome," She smiled.

James helped her back into the gondola and as she rowed away he rushed into his room.

There he tore open the envelope and read was written on the paper inside.

* * *

_James, I know I saw you last night and I think I understand now why you wear the mask. But I'm not afraid of you I swear. I want to meet you but I'll leave that decision up to you._

_Charles_

* * *

James sighed and placed the letter down on his bed. He wanted more then anything to see Charles face to face but he knew it would be an extremely foolish thing to do. Charles was only unafraid of his face because he'd never really seen it but once he did he'd be just as terrified as Christine when she had seen Erik's face. And besides Erik had forbid him to go anywhere near Charles and to defy his father was a death wish. No he knew what he had to do.

He sat down at his desk and pulled a piece of paper out from one of the drawers. He then picked up his pen and began to write his response.

* * *

Charles practically raced to the opera house the next day and by the time he reached Madame Giry he was breathless. "Did James write back?" He panted.

Madame Giry nodded and handed him a letter that was sealed with a blood red skull.

Charles snatched it from her hand and ripped it open anxious to read the response.

_

* * *

__Charles, Your right, it was me who you saw in Box Five but that will be the last time you'll see me. It's impossible for us to be with each other in anyway. I'm too different from other people to ever be near them. So just forget about me and stick with your nice, normal life._

_  
James_

* * *

Charles's heart was heavy as he looked up at Madame Giry who shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry," She said, "but he's right. You should forget him."

"No, he's wrong!" Charles said angrily. "And I'll prove it to him!" He then stormed off with James's letter crumpled up in his hand.

Madame Giry sighed and wondered what was going to happen.

* * *

When James slipped into Box Five to watch the rehearsals he was surprised to find an envelope on his chair. He realized who had to be with a sinking feeling and opened it.

* * *

_James, You're wrong! I don't care how different we are! I am not afraid of you and I can't forget you. I haven't been able to for eleven years. And it isn't nice to have a normal life. It's very, very dull and my parents are far to over protective of me. _

_I can't believe that it's impossible for us to be with each other and I will see again weather you want me to or not._

_Charles_

* * *

James dropped the letter and let his face fall into his hands. "Damnit, Charles," He said. "What am I going to do about you?"


	5. Chapter Four

**Sorry it took so long-bows a dozen times-!**

* * *

Charles sat in the manger's box waiting for the opera—_Aida_ this time—to begin. He was much calmer then he had been last time and hardly paid any attention to the lively conversation. Instead his eyes were fixed on Box Five as though something—or rather someone—was going to appear there any moment.

There came a light touch on his hand and he turned to see his mother looking at him concerned.

"Why are you so quiet?" She asked. "Is something wrong?"

Charles felt a stab of guilt for making her worry about him. "Nothing's wrong Mother," He said laying his hand on hers. "I was just thinking."

He smiled as the worry disappeared from her face. But when she turned back to her husband his eyes instantly went to Box Five again.

* * *

James was trying his best to focus on the opera and not the eyes that hardly ever seemed to leave his box but it was too hard. No matter how hard he tried his eyes kept sliding over to the manger's box.

Eventually Erik sighed and turned to him. "If you're not going to watch the opera," He said, "then you should leave."

"I'm sorry," James said bowing his head sheepishly. "I'm just finding it hard to concentrate."

"That's understandable," Erik said. "The de Chagny boy is rather distracting tonight."

"Father…" James said raising his head to look at Erik.

Erik held up his hand to stop him. "You don't need to explain, James," He said. "But all the same I want you to return home."

"Yes, sir," James said. Careful to keep to the shadows he rose from his chair and moved towards the door. "Will you be returning home after the opera?"

"No," Erik said. "I have some business I need to see to first."

James glanced worriedly at Charles, already having a feeling about what his father's business was but he said nothing and slipped out of the box.

Once he had gone Erik looked over at Charles to find him staring at Box Five once again. His eyes narrowed. That boy was definitely going to be a lot of trouble.

* * *

Charles trudged into his room with a heavy heart that night. He hadn't seen James at all tonight. The boy was probably avoiding him.

Sighing he began to undress but when he turned to throw his clothes onto the bed he noticed something there that made his eyes widen.

There on his pillow was an envelope sealed with a red skull.

He quickly snatched it up and tore it open but the note inside wasn't written in James's neat, strict handwriting. Instead the letter was written in a strange, childish scrawl.

* * *

_Monsieur Charles de Chagny, I noticed that you seemed to be quite interested in my box tonight. I believe I can guess the reason why and I warn you to stop pursuing it. I will not allow you to interfere in my son's life._

_If you do not leave him be then I will be forced to step in. And believe me when I say that that is the last thing you want to happen._

_O.G_

* * *

Charles scowled at the letter and crumpled it up into a ball. He wouldn't be intimidated by a ghost.

* * *

The next day when Erik was making his normal patrol of the upper half of the opera house he was surprisingly accosted by Madame Giry. The nervous look on her face when he asked her what she wanted confused him even further.

"I have a letter for you," She said.

"From who?" Erik asked, taking it from her.

Madame Giry's lips tightened worriedly and she said nothing.

Frowning Erik opened the envelope and pulled out the letter inside to stare at the unfamiliar handwriting.

* * *

_O.G, I understand why your trying to keep James and I apart but I assure you that I am nothing like my parents. I will not reject him like my mother did to you and I won't be disgusted by what he is and call him a monster like my father with you. _

_I will not stop trying to know James. Over these past eleven years I've never stopped thinking about him or stopped caring about him._

_I don't care what you do to me; I won't rest until I see James._

_Charles de Chagny _

* * *

"I tried to dissuade him from sending it," Madame Giry said, "but he wouldn't take no for an answer." She was surprised at the soft laughter that answered her statement.

"I admire his courage," Erik said. He slipped the letter inside the folds of his cloak with a small smile. "Very well, I'll give him a chance."


	6. Chapter Five

James stood behind one of the many statues on the opera house's roof as he waited for Charles to appear. He wasn't sure why Erik had decided to arrange a meeting between Charles and him but he was both excited and nervous. He couldn't wait to properly see Charles again after all these years but he had no idea how the boy would react to seeing him.

The door to the roof suddenly went flying open, pulling James from his thoughts. He peeked around the statue to see Charles standing there, panting in the cold winter's air. He couldn't resist a quiet chuckle. Had Charles ran up all the flight of stairs just to see him?

Charles was looking around himself wondering where the person he was suppose to meeting tonight was. "James?" He called.

"I'm here," James said slipping out from behind the statue.

Charles gave a start and whipped around to find himself staring at a boy who seemed a little older then himself.

The other was shockingly tall for his age—Charles wouldn't be surprised if he was nearly six feet—and dressed all in black expect for the mask of white cloth on his face. The curls that escaped from underneath his felt hat were as black as clothes and the eyes that locked with Charles's were a burning indigo that took his breath away.

The beautiful eyes danced with amusement and Charles had the feeling that he was smiling beneath the mask. "Hello Charles," He said. "My father told me that you wished to meet me here tonight."

"Then your James?" Charles asked.

"Yes," James said. "Why were expecting something else? Do I not live up to your daydreams of how a thing like I should look?'

"No, that's not it at all!" Charles said hurriedly. "Its just so extraordinary to finally be able to see you after all this time. And don't refer to yourself as a thing. That's not what you are."

"Oh, really?" James said, his eyebrows raising under his mask.

"Yes, really," Charles said. "You're a human bean. The same as me."

"Now I wouldn't say that," James said, "for human I maybe but the same as you I am not." He tapped his mask in a silent reminder and Charles flinched as though he had been hit. James sighed. "I'm sorry," He said softly. "This isn't how I wanted our conversation to go."

"Its alright," Charles said. "Just please don't think of yourself as anything less then human when your in my company."

James nodded to appease him and Charles smiled gratefully at him. James's breath caught in his throat and he made a mental note to make Charles smile as often as possible. He looked so beautiful when he did; it was like his whole face lit up.

"So, what do you want to talk about?" James said. "I'll answer any questions you may have for me."

Charles fidgeted nervously for a few moments before saying, "Who are you exactly? I mean how did you wind up here?"

"Ah, well that's a fairly easy question," James said. "On a cold winter's night a woman gave birth to a child that horrified her so horribly that it drove her slightly mad. She rushed out onto the street and begged the first person she found to take the child. That person just happened to be the Phantom of the Opera. He took me under his wing and raised me like any true father would."

"What about your mother?" Charles asked softly.

James shrugged dismissively. "Father told her that if he ever saw again he'd kill her," He said. "I have no memories of her and I don't care at all. I do not love her anymore then I hate her. I am indifferent to her."

Charles couldn't imagine how he could be so apathetic about what happened. The pain he envisioned feeling if his own mother were to reject him seemed unbearable. And yet James was standing here talking about it as though it was as simple as the weather.

"Not its my turn to ask some questions," James said. He eyed Charles carefully. "Am I free to ask anything?"

"Of course," Charles said with an encouraging smile.

"Very well," James said. "Do you like music? I noticed that you always seem to love the operas." "When you watch them," He added with a laugh.

Charles reddened slightly at this before nodding enthusiastically. "I love music!" He said. "I just stopped taking lessons from my voice teacher."

"Why did you stop taking lessons?" James asked.

"He said that he had nothing more to teach me," Charles said.

James remained silent for a few moments and then he stared at Charles with a renewed interest. "Let me hear you sing," He said.

Charles's eyes widened in surprise. "What?" He said.

"You said that your teacher said that he had nothing left to teach you," James said. "That either means that he succeeded in bringing your voice to perfection or you had reached the limit of his teaching. I want to see which it is, so sing."

"How would you know the difference?" Charles asked.

"I was trained since I was five years old by my father," James said, "how to sing perfectly and to pick out the areas of improvement in other people's voices. He is an excellent teacher and you should know. He's the man who taught your mother after all."

Remembering how beautiful his mother's voice was when she sang, Charles knew that he could trust in this boy's tastes.

"Fine," He said. "What do you want me to sing?"

"Whatever you want is fine," James said.

Charles nodded and took a deep breath before beginning to sing. The song he choose was from _Romeo and Juliet_ and it had been one of the first songs that his mother had taught him. He soared through it as well as he always did and then waited anxiously for James's judgment.

"Well your voice is very good," James said. "There's no weakness in either registers and the tone is right on. But there's still places in which you could excel."

"And where are those places?" Charles demanded. It was hard for him to believe that his voice was lacking. After all his mother had been taught by the great Phantom himself and she was always praising his voice for its beauty.

"You need more life in your voice," James said. "Right now your voice is simply very pretty whereas with the right amount of energy it could become magnificent." He sighed as Charles's face fell. "I'm guessing that there's no one who can teach you?"

Charles nodded. "I thought that my training was over," He said bitterly.

James fell silent, a crazy thought raising in his mind. He had been trained into excellence by Erik and could most likely insist others with their voices. But the idea was frighteningly similar to what Erik's relationship with Christine had been. What if he and Charles came to suffer the same way they had?

Charles glanced curiously over at James. "Is something the matter?" He asked.

"No," James said. "I was just thinking that perhaps…" He trailed off shaking his head.

"Perhaps what?" Charles prompted.

James eyed Charles warily. "Well if there's no one left who can teach you," He said, "maybe I could help you."

Charles's mouth fell open. "You would do that?" He asked.

"I would," James said. "But you must be ready for a strict education. I will not accept any less then perfection from you."

"I understand," Charles said, unable to keep a smile from his face. Excitement was bubbling up inside of him. "When should we meet?"

"Any night you can get away from your parents," James said, "come here and I will show you a place where we can practice without interruption."

Charles nodded eagerly. "I'll try to get away tomorrow night," He promised.

"That would be perfect," James said. "I want to begin our lessons as soon as possible."

Charles was about to reply when footsteps were heard from behind the door to the roof and frantic talking. A second later the door shot open and the Vicomte and Vicomtess de Chagny rushed out onto the roof.

Christine rushed over to her son and threw her arms around him well Raoul crossed his arms across his chest with a frown.

"So this is where you went," He said. "Do you have any idea how worried we were? Why did you sneak away like that?"

Charles didn't answer and looked around the roof only to find that James had disappeared.

"Well, young man?" Raoul asked.

"I…I just wanted a bit of fresh air," Charles lied. "And the sky is so beautiful tonight."

Christine tightened her grip around him. "Next time warn us before disappearing," She said. "You had me so scared. I thought that…that _he_ had taken you."

Charles stiffened in her arms. "Don't worry, Mother," He said. "The Phantom had nothing to do with it."

The air around the family tensed instantly at the mention of the man and Raoul sighed.

"We've stayed here long enough tonight," He said. "Let's go home."

* * *

Erik was waiting there for James when he brought the gondola up to the embankment of the cavern. He was taken aback slightly by James's blissful expression.

"I assume your meeting with the Chagny boy went well," He said.

James nodded and jumped out of the boat. "It was excellent," He said. "And I even got to hear him sing."

Erik's eyebrows raised slightly. "Really," He said. "I didn't know the boy could sing."

"Well we can," James said. "He's had a teacher for a very long time but his voice still needs a little bit more training."

"It's a pity then that he doesn't have anyone to teach him," Erik said. He caught sight of James's face and was struck with a sudden horror. "You didn't!"

"I did," James said. "I'm sorry, Father but I couldn't help it. He looked so miserable when I told him that his voice wasn't perfect and I knew that I could make his voice so much better."

Erik sighed and shook his head. James was becoming dangerously close to Charles and it had him worried. "I will allow this for now," He said, "but if things become too risky you are to leave the boy immediately."

"Yes, sir," James said.


	7. Chapter Six

Charles was eager to begin his lessons with James as soon as possible but his parents had become even more paranoid—if that was really possible—since his last slip away to the roof and kept such a close eye on him that it made escaping again almost impossible.

Finally fortune smiled on him when the mangers insisted that the de Chagny family stay behind for the small party they were throwing to celebrate the success of the opera season.

And so, with his parents well absorbed in their conversations with the various cast members and other opera goers who had been invited, Charles slipped away to the roof with little notice.

Once there he looked around but found as little sign of James as he had the first time he had come to the roof.

"James?" He called. "Are you there?"

"Yes."

Charles gave a start and whipped around to find himself nearly face to face with James.

He stumbled backwards, shaking his head.

"How do you do that?" He asked.

James's eyes sparkled with mirth. "A magician never gives away his secrets," He said. He laughed when Charles rolled his eyes at him. "So I see you were finally able to escape your parents."

"They are fair too overprotective," Charles frowned. "It's like they expect the Phantom to swoop down and steal me away at any second." He paused, eyeing James cautiously. "He's not going to do that is he?"

"Of course not," James chuckled. "Your parents worry far too much. Father would only come after you if you were to do anything to me. He's rather overprotective himself you see."

Charles nodded well secretly vowing that he would never do anything to invoke the opera ghost's wrath.

"So where is this place you were speaking of last time?" He asked.

"Ah, of course," James said. "We only have limited time to work with after all. Let me show you where it is."

He held out his hand to Charles without any hesitation at all.

James lead Charles quickly back down into the opera house, keeping to the shadows so that they wouldn't be seen, and eventually stopped by a wall not too far away from the backstage where the distant sounds of the party could be heard.

Turning to the wall, James knocked soundly on it in a pattern that seemed completely random to Charles, leaving him stunned when a small part of the wood swung inward like a door.

James strode into the room with Charles following curiously after him. He jumped as James clapped his hands causing the gaslights in the room to flare to life and the door to close quietly behind them.

Charles spun around, taking in every detail of the room he was standing in.

The place was fairly small and styled in a circular pattern but it was still able to hold a fair amount of things.

Thick volume books and sheets of music were shoved onto the shelves that lined the room, and there was a grand four poster bed shoved against the far wall that had rich black velvet curtains and sheets so red that they almost resembled the color of blood.

But the most dominating feature of the room was the grand piano that stood only a little ways away from Charles.

"This is my own private room," James explained. "Father made it for me when I was six so that I would have a place all to myself." "It was probably to get me out of his hair as well," He added with a chuckle.

"How did you get the piano down here?" Charles asked.

James averted his eyes from Charles's in an almost sheepish manner. "Did you ever hear about the piano that went missing from the orchestra pit?" He asked.

"That was _you_?" Charles gaped.

"No, not me," James said. "It was my father. He brought it down here to practice on. He said that it was much cheaper then going out and buying one and that it was going to waste with the orchestra's talentless pianist." He rolled his eyes. "But that's just the way Father has always been."

Charles smiled and walked over to the piano, running his fingers over the ivory keys. "When did you learn to play the piano?" He asked.

"Well I'd say I fully mastered it by age five," James said.

"Five?" Charles exclaimed. It taken him two years more then that to even get close to playing the piano as well as that!

"Yes," James said. He slid onto the bench and played out a very short but sweet tune on the piano. "Father always encouraged my musical talents," He said. "He's taught me to play nearly every instrument you can think of."

"Wow," Charles breathed. "What else has he taught you?"

"Just about everything you can imagine," James said. "I can name off any form of architecture you like or draw something nearly as beautiful as the mural you see on the ceiling of the opera house. I know how to speak in a variety of different languages and can whip up an herbal remedy that will cure you faster and better then something the doctor gave you. I also as mentioned know as much as one can about the musical world. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. My lessons with him have never truly stopped. There's always something new for him to teach me."

"Good Lord," Charles said. "They hardly even cover half of that at my school."

"That's because my father is a genius," James said.

Charles smiled slightly at the pride he detected in James's voice. "You seem very proud of him," He said.

"I am," James said. "But that's enough conversation. The time we have together is short and must not be wasted." He brought his fingers to the keys again and glanced up at Charles. "Let's begin with a few warm-ups," He said. "I trust you know _Dies Ire_?"

* * *

The party was winding down with the last of the guests either heading off for home or in a few gentlemen's cases hanging on the arm of one of the pretty little ballet girls.

But Christine Daae was not as relaxed as the others. She was wringing her hands anxiously well she scanned the thinning crowds for the dark head of curls that she knew so well.

Her husband, the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny, laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry so much," He said. "I'm sure that Charles will be here soon."

And if on cue, Charles appeared from behind a gaggle of chattering young couples in front of him.

"Charles!" Christine cried, embracing him as soon as he reached her. "Where did you go?"

"Sorry, Mother," Charles said, patting Christine on the back. "I caught sight of one of those ballet girls and she led me a little astray."

Raoul laughed and clapped his son on the back. "It was bound to happen sometime," He said. "Just remember not to go running after every girl with a pretty face, Charles."

"I won't," Charles grinned.

* * *

Erik found James back in his room at the lair. He had spread out a whole slew of music sheets across his bed and was scanning them rapidly.

"How was the first lesson?" Erik asked, knowing the James had already sensed his presence.

"It was perfect," James said, not looking up from the sheet in his hands. "Charles is quite dedicated to becoming better. He actually _encouraged_ me to critique him as often as possible."

A laugh escaped from between Erik's lips. "It's a good thing he doesn't take after his father," He said. "The Vicomte would have hated to hear any criticism about himself."

"Indeed," James grinned, looking over at Erik now. "I'm glad that egotism is not something that Charles has inherited from his father."

"Is anything like the man at all?" Erik asked.

"Perhaps a little," James said. "But I don't really think he's too much like _either_ of his parents. He's something else all together."

Erik nodded, unable to decide if he should be thankful for this fact or not.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Hello everyone, I am so very sorry that it took me this long to get this chapter out. I kept re-working it and re-working it and it just wouldn't cooperate with me. **

**-sighs-**

**I am in terrible need of a muse but until then I already have a plan for the next chapter so wish me luck!**

**I apologize for the shortness of this chapter as well...**

* * *

Charles shifted from one foot to the other, chewing the inside of his mouth anxiously, as he glanced at his pocket watch once again. His heart sunk when he saw that ten minutes had already passed from the end of the opera; James was going to be furious with him for wasting time that should have been spent working.

It had been two weeks since the first lesson and over that time Charles had been slipping away from his parents as often as possible to meet with James in his secret room.

And the lessons were far from easy. James had not been kidding around when he had warned Charles that he would accept nothing more than perfection from him. There were times that they would run over the same line in a piece over a dozen times or more, just because he was one note off.

But Charles refused to let the strict method of teaching grate upon his nerves for he would allow nothing to deter him from perfecting his voice. And besides, he was already able to hear a shocking amount of progress in his voice.

Charles would much prefer to be with James in the dark seclusion of the private room but he was standing backstage instead, surrounded by the noise of senseless chatter and twinkling laughter.

Before Charles wouldn't have minded being in a place like this but the longer he spent with James, the more his irritation for these kinds of events increased.

It was just another ridiculous party filled with people who wanted nothing more then a place to flaunt their wealth and perhaps find someone to keep them company for the night.

Normally Charles would have already made his escape by now, but his parents were keeping an annoyingly close watch on him tonight.

He couldn't stop himself from groaning as his eyes darted around, trying to find some sort of an exit that he could disappear through.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand came down on his shoulder and he whirled around to see who had touched him, only to relax instantly when he saw that it was only Madame Giry.

"Hello, madame," He said. "Is there something you need?"

"Indeed there is," Madame Giry said. Her eyes shot around them for a brief second, making sure that no one was listening in, before leaning in close so that Charles was the only one able to hear her words. "I have come to bring you to James. He figured that you were probably tied up here so he sent me to fetch you."

Charles could do little more then blink at her in amazement for a few moments and then he laughed to himself. "Figures he would have done something like this," He said. "I'm sorry that you have to be bothered with this, madame."

"Oh, there is no need for concern," Madame Giry said, a small smile dawning on her lips. "I rather enjoy helping him; especially in matters concerning his relationship with you. It has done the poor boy good to be with you."

Charles felt his cheeks flush with heat and he did his best to force away the blush that he was certain was staining his cheeks.

He took the hand that Madame Giry offered, allowing her to lead him deftly through the crowds, towards the end of the wings.

She stopped there, releasing his hand from her hold. "This is the farthest I know to go," She said. "I trust you know the rest of the way."

Charles nodded and thanked her for her assistance before heading down the rest of the way to where he knew that there would be a secret door, behind which a certain boy would be waiting for him.

* * *

Christine wrung her hands together anxiously as she moved down the darkened hallway. She was certain that she had seen Charles head down it after he had parted from Madame Giry, but she had not seen him yet and it was beginning to worry her.

As it happened, her son had been causing her a great deal of concern lately.

She could tell that Charles thought that he was getting away with his constant absences from the after performance parties, but she had noticed and it was starting to concern her as to where he was going instead of the parties.

So, when she had seen Madame Giry leading Charles away from the party she had decided to follow them but now she wasn't sure if that had been the wisest decision, seeing she didn't have the slightest idea where to go from here.

Christine stopped walking with a sigh, deciding that it would be wise to stop for a moment and try to decide what to do now.

It was then, as she stood there in that dim little hall, that she heard it.

At first it was so soft that she was unsure whether she was truly hearing it, but then it slowly began to grow in volume and she knew that it was really there.

There was a voice, risen in harmony with the flawless twinkling notes of a piano. The voice was that of a tenor's and filled with such a sweet, innocent beauty that it made Christine's heart ache.

She recognized the song with little effort at all, it was from an Italian opera by the name of _Don Giovanni_, and she could easily translate the words to gain the meaning of the song.

_"Ah, dear heart do not upbraid me_

_Ah, believe me I love only you_

_I shall smile again with you to aid me_

_You must know my heart is true_

_You should know my heart is true."_

Another voice could suddenly be heard, rising up to join the first, and Christine felt shivers running down her skin at the sound of it. And to think that she had thought the first voice to be beautiful. This new voice was unlike anything she had ever heard; it was like music itself—there was no other way to describe it. And when it joined with the other voice…the product was unimaginably stunning.

_"Love must wait till the morrow_

_Love must wait upon my sorrow_

_Love must wait upon my sorrow_

_Until the morrow_

_Ah, dear heart do not upbraid me_

_Ah, believe me_

_My heart is true!"_

The music was fading away now, and Christine was surprised to discover that her cheeks were wet with tears.

Her senses seemed awfully muffled, making it hard for to concentrate on anything. It was though the music had placed her under a trance that refused to be lifted.

A part of her, buried in the recesses of her mind, cried out in warning that she would should run before the music began again, reminding of her of what had happened the last time she had let music such as this hold such a powerful sway over her.

But that part of her was far too small for her to pay any heed to it and she found herself sinking to her knees, longing for the music to come to her again.

She did not have long to wait until she could hear the notes of the piano picking up again and the sweet tenor voice rising to join with it.

It was a jaunty French song with this time and her mind groggily registered as the Flower Song from _Faust_ before she leaned her head against the wall, a contented smile growing on her lips as she closed her eyes, letting the music overcome her.

* * *

**Eek, whatever shall become of Christine? Poor dear, the music quite overwhelmed her. **

**And the song that James and Charles are singing is indeed from the opera _Don Giovanni_, and its called _Ah, Dear Heart_. It isn't orginally a duet but I turned it into one because I thought that it suited the story better. Sadly enough though, the song is actually sung by the female lead. It seems as if fate is trying to make Charles seem even more feminine than his looks already make him...I would feel more sorry for him if it wasn't so funny...**

**Your always faithful (even though her chapter updates shall always remain unpredicatable) author, **

**Redluna**


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